


Everything She's Ever Let Go Of (Has Claws Marks On It)

by Lady_Vibeke



Series: Glimpses of Light Through the Cracks of Beskar Walls [2]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: (very grudgingly), Accidental Softness, Denial of Feelings, Developing Relationship, Emotionally Clumsy Idiots, F/M, Falling In Love, Gen, Grumpy Idiots, Idiots in Love, Intimacy, Late Night Conversations, Relationship Negotiation, Touch-Starved
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-31
Updated: 2021-02-14
Packaged: 2021-03-17 20:34:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,535
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29106420
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lady_Vibeke/pseuds/Lady_Vibeke
Summary: “You're dramatic enough to be a Mandalorian.”“Is that supposed to be a compliment?”Koska arches her eyebrows. “Not to you, I guess.”There's more she wants to know. She asks him about his past like she genuinely wants to understand how he came to be the man he is today. He tells her—tells her about his father, about the Empire, about the time he spent his prison, about the sarlacc... everything he never told anyone else, he tells this girl he hardly knows. By the end of the meal, Koska knows all his darkest secrets and still isn't looking at him like he's a monster.All she has to say at the end of his recount is, “You had an interesting life.”Boba was expecting any reaction but this.“That's it?” he scoffs. Defining his lifeinterestingis like saying Hoth iscool.“Sorry,” Koska purrs, teeth digging mischievously into her bottom lip, “I didn't realise you were trying to impress me.”[ Sequel to We Know When to Kill (And We Know When to Kiss) ]
Relationships: Boba Fett & Fennec Shand, Boba Fett/Koska Reeves, Cara Dune & Koska Reeves (mentioned), Din Djarin/Cara Dune (mentioned)
Series: Glimpses of Light Through the Cracks of Beskar Walls [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2123766
Comments: 29
Kudos: 52





	1. The Fire The Burns in Our Eyes

**Author's Note:**

> If you thought I was dead, you were very close to the truth, my friends. My work schedule has been updated and my Thursdays off have been revoked for the time being, meaning I now have only Sundays to write, because when I get home in the evening I'm so tired I can barely shower, eat, and go to sleep. This is my life now. 🥺
> 
> I won't be able to be as productive as before but I promise I'm still here and still writing, just bear with me and my close to zero free time at the moment.
> 
> Story title from a quote by David Foster Wallace, "Everything I've ever let go of has claws marks on it." Chapter title from They Say Surrender by Aqualash.

He doesn't know what Koska is doing here. He thought he was never going to see her pretty face again when they parted ways after capturing Gideon. He would lie if he said he hasn't thought about her in these months—hard not to think about her and her memorable character when she had left such a searing mark on him, though unknowingly. It isn't the sweetness of her body that has been haunting his mind, nor the fierceness of her attitude. It's the fire and the hunger in her eyes, the awareness that maybe, unwillingly, he let his guard down for just a split second, and that split second was enough for her to crawl under his skin unnoticed. He can feel the tendrils of the temptation that originally drew him to her spreading this raging longing within him. There is no fighting it. He tried. He failed. He tired again. Failed again. The thought of her was always more powerful than his determination to forget her. Fennec still accuses him of being a pining idiot when she's in a particularly good mood; he's glad she's not here to study him like an exotic animal while Koska stands before him and asks him for a _chance._

He tried to send her away and tell himself it was pointless to even consider what Koska was suggesting, but the hurt and the anger in her eyes when she turned away from him snapped the chain that for years had kept any impulsiveness at bay, and now he's here, of the rooftop of the palace, sharing beer and spicy rice cakes with Koska, a deep but comfortable silence surrounding them and, it seems, the entire planet.

The nights are bright in the middle of the Tatooine desert, black skies painted by myriads of nebulae and the pale glow of the moons. It would be a romantic scenario for two people more inclined to romanticism. But they're nowhere close to be romantic spirits, he and Koska. It should feel awkward and it _doesn't,_ and by now Boba has given up figuring out what is going on. He's observing Koska out of the corner of his eye, enjoying how nonchalantly she's wolfing down cake after cake, seemingly unbothered by the spicy taste that brings tears to the eyes of most people. He grins to himself: tough one through and through.

“What are you smiling about?” Koska inquires, mouth half full. They're sitting side by side on the edge of the terrace, the plate with the food between them.

“Your appetite,” he lies.

“You haven't seen anything,” she deadpans. “I'm not even hungry, right now.” She pops a whole cake into her mouth with a defiant look and chews with gusto.

“I've seen you hungry,” he reminds her. He won't say what kind of hunger he's referring to, the mere hunger for food or the raw, primeval hunger for contact he felt through every inch of her body while she clung to him like it was their last night alive.

“This stuff is good,” she says, taking a gulp of beer.

“I have a good cook.”

Koska licks her fingers one by one. Boba feels a familiar tug deep in his chest, sharp and invincible.

“I've heard stories about how you conquered this place,” she says. “Which one is true? The one where you split Bib Fortuna's skull in two with your stick or the one where you burned him alive and fed him to his own charhounds?”

She shoots him a smirk. A quiet laugh shakes Boba's shoulders.

“I heard more colourful versions.”

He tells her the real story and she listens with a pensive look lost far away among the stars. She snorts at the part when he sat on the palace throne and had Fortuna's staff swear their allegiance to him.

“You're dramatic enough to be a Mandalorian.”

“Is that supposed to be a compliment?”

Koska arches her eyebrows. “Not to you, I guess.”

There's more she wants to know. She asks him about his past like she genuinely wants to understand how he came to be the man he is today. He tells her—tells her about his father, about the Empire, about the time he spent his prison, about the sarlacc... everything he never told anyone else, he tells this girl he hardly knows. By the end of the meal, Koska knows all his darkest secrets and still isn't looking at him like he's a monster.

All she has to say at the end of his recount is, “You had an interesting life.”

In all honesty, Boba was expecting any reaction but this.

“That's it?” he scoffs. Defining his life _interesting_ is like saying Hoth is _cool._

“Sorry,” Koska purrs, teeth digging mischievously into her bottom lip, “I didn't realise you were trying to impress me.”

The nerve of this girl. Boba snickers despite himself. He's glad she hasn't lost her pungent attitude; it would be a pity to give up the pleasure of bickering with her. He didn't realise how much he missed her sharp tongue until she started teasing him again.

A servant comes up collect the empty plate and fill up their cups with cold beer, then leaves without lifting his eyes from the ground. Boba suspects the poor guy was afraid he was interrupting something.

Koska shivers. The weather is warm but the breeze blowing from the desert is cool and rouses goosebumps all over her naked arms. Boba pulls at the cowl around his neck and slides closer to Koska to drape it around her shoulders. When he tries to scoot away, she grabs his arm to stop him.

He looks at her. She opens her mouth as if to say something but nothing comes out of it.

“I'm sorry about your father,” is what she says in the end. It feels the silence but doesn't convince him it's what she wanted to say in the first place. He decides not to push her. He focuses on something that caugh his attention, instead.

“It's not my _donor,_ to you?” he taunts. There's an undertone of cruelty in how he says it and he regrets it when it's already too late to take it back.

Koska doesn't seem offended but she sounds defensive when she mutters, “Bo-Katan is my friend and I respect her leadership. Doesn't mean I always agree with her.”

Boba has his own fair share of experience serving people he didn't agree with. Honour is everything to Mandalorians and Lady Kryze, Darksaber or not, is the rightful heiress to the title of Mand'alor to many of them. He cannot blame Koska for serving Kryze's cause: it is part of her culture, intrinsic of who she was brought up to be. The mere fact that she's here with him, today, is an act of rebellion Boba wouldn't have expected from her. Beneath her dutiful beskar uniform, she's even braver than she looks.

“So you don't care I'm a clone.” He almost spits it out, sceptically, like he doesn't believe it—like he doesn't believe _her._ He's not ashamed of where he comes from, of his heritage. Whatever people say or think, he's the son of Jango Fett and will always be proud of this.

The glower Koska sends him is hard but surprisingly warm. “Your DNA just dictates what you look like. It can't shape _who_ you are,” she says. She glances down at their hands, close enough to be touching, if they just allowed them. When she looks up at him again, her jaw is clenched tight. “I've never met anyone like you, clone or not.”

It feels like a resentful remark, even if Boba is fairly sure it's a compliment. She's watching him with a stubborn glint in her look that pulls at strings of his soul be had always believed unmovable. He doesn't know what to make of the passion in her eyes; no one has ever looked at him like this. No one has ever _talked_ to him like this.

“Something must be wrong with you,” he half laughs, but there's a bitter edge to it that isn't lost on Koska.

“All I've known in my entire life is fighting,” she whispers stiffly, as if the words were hurting her throat, striving to come out. “It's not enough anymore.”

Her voice, so soft and unfairly young, makes him want to pull her into an embrace he's sure wouldn't be unwanted. And it's disrespectful of him to keep thinking about her age as a limitation when she's already proved more than once how valiant and strong she is, as a warrior and as a woman, even among older and more experienced soldiers.

There's a bob in Koska's throat. The set of her jaw is firm and proud, but a hue of sadness veils her look while she says, “I want to know what it's like to have a piece of what Dune and Djarin have.”

Ah, _that._

A corner of Boba's mouth rises in a reluctant curl. They're setting impossible bars, here. He's been around Djarin and Dune for just a few days and it was long enough for him to understand the bond tying those two together is as deep as it is rare. He never believed in soulmates until he met those two. He has to admit Koska isn't the only one who's been wondering if there's more to life than just war and survival.

“Did you have to come all the way to Tatooine to look for it?” he replies, just to provoke her. He still can't quite comprehend why, of all the people in the galaxy, she feels so drawn to him, but this thing goes both ways and he has a feelings she knows, because the way her eyes are searching his face is cautious but very confident.

“People usually look for things where they believe they can find them.”

“What makes you think this is the right place?”

He's not trying to push her away; he just wants to make sure she realises what she's in for, though she hasn't given him any reason to doubt that. He's not the one he used to be. He doesn't look like the sort of man someone would expect to see at her side. And yet she stomped her way into his palace and demanded a _possibility._

Koska is well aware of all of this and apparently doesn't think he needs a reminder of how serious she is.

“Tell me I'm wrong,” she just says, “and I'll leave you alone and never come back.”

And Boba is a lot of vile things but he's no hypocrite. He guesses Koska knows, somehow, because her look gets bolder as the seconds tick by, and she inches closer, until her thigh brushes his. The warmth of her body is as sweet and inviting as he remembered and, if possible, twice as tempting now that he's trying so hard to be rational.

She nudges him with her shoulder, a gesture so delicate it could almost be shy, if he didn't know better.

“I'm waiting.”

He can't resist the temptation of turning to look at her, and this is a rookie mistake he shouldn't have fallen for. She's gazing at him with a challenge hardening her features—the same incandescent look that burned a hole through him the first time he found himself standing face to face with her, ready to rip each other's throats out—and she's so young, and so beautiful, and everything he isn't, and yet it's him she's here for. He can sense the feelings she's holding inside of herself, caged like raging demons. He can see how they scare her, how afraid she secretly is beneath her bold facade that he's going to leave her to deal with them on her own. He wishes he knew how to tell her he's as disoriented as she is by this thing growing between them.

He meets her eyes through the opalescent darkness. A quiet smile passes between them. He feels that tug in his heart again.

“Stubborn child,” he mutters, too fondly to make it pass as a convincing reproach.

She chuckles. “That's what I thought.”

Smug, insufferable woman. He would kiss that shit-eating expression away if he didn't know it would only serve the very opposite purpose. It's ironic, he thinks, that he managed to fight his way out of the mouth of a sarlacc, more dead than alive, and yet he can't seem to break free of this girl's spell. He's too old for this sentimental shit.

They sit side by side, listening to the low whistle of the wind blowing through the dunes. They talk about business and missions, but it gets old quickly and soon memories are being brought up, good and bad. She's native of Naboo, lost her parents at a very young age; Clan Kryze has been her family ever since. Bo-Katan is a sister to her. He tells her about his solitary life and how he's always avoided any sort of attachment, and his choice of words makes Koska huff.

Hours pass. Koska falls asleep on him somewhere along the way. The gentle pressure of her weight on his side keeps Boba still for long minutes that could easily turn into hours. Her head is abandoned on his shoulder, her eyes closed in a peaceful expression he doesn't want to ruin, no matter what. He'd sit here the whole night just to watch her beautiful face free of its usual steely stare.

He wonders how much trust it takes to make someone like her lower her defences like this. She couldn't have made a louder statement if she had yelled in his face. She was trained to be a war machine—strong, precise, disciplined—but here she is, vulnerable and unguarded, slumbering like a child upon his shoulder.

It takes him a lot of willpower to admit they can't possibly spend the whole night here. As nice as it is, it's getting cold and Koska is too scarcely clothed. Carefully, he slips down the terrace wall and, ever so delicately, collects her into his arms and takes her inside.

He had the most luxurious guest room prepared for her, though he's sure her personal choice would have been something smaller and less pretentious, but this was the only room with a safe large enough to accommodate her most prized possession: her armour.

He lays her down on the bed and pulls a blanket over her. If he tired to get her under the sheets, she might wake up and he wants her to rest. They can argue about him leaving her to sleep alone in the morning.

He battles against the urge to touch her face. If he did, he would never find the strength to walk out of here. There is something addictive about her, in the way she always seems to be buzzing with barely restrained energy yearning to be vented, one way or another. He was lucky enough to experience her restlessness in two very different occasions and happened to enjoy both more than he cares to admit.

When, very reluctantly, he leaves, Fennec is waiting for him in the hallway, crossed arms and judging glower and all.

“Idiot.”

Boba closes the door behind himself and starts walking away. Fennec tags along.

“When did you get back?” he asks when she surpasses him and blocks his way with a pointed stare.

“Don't change the subject.” Fennec presents him her open palm, fingers twitching inward in invitation. “You owe me three hundred credits.”

Of course she wouldn't miss a chance to bring this up. That stupid bet. He had been so certain Koska would forget he ever existed the moment she took off with her princess and their freshly conquered ship that he never considered he might actually lose.

“You can have five hundred if you shut up,” he grumbles, trying to dodge her, but Fennec jabs a finger into his chest.

“If you kark this up,” she warns him, “I'm going to claw your heart out with my bare hands and make you eat it.”

Boba would be tempted to sneer at her, if he didn't know better. He should have seen this coming: Fennec wouldn't be such a good assassin if she couldn't read into people; he just wishes she directed her perceptiveness somewhere else. One woman staring into his soul without his permission is enough trouble, right now.

“Do it now and spare me the lecture,” he spits, only half joking.

He tries to sprint past her once again but Fennec grabs his robe and unceremoniously pushes back against the wall. Her dry stare conveys an impressive amount on insults, even for her.

“I'm serious, man. If you're waiting for her to crawl at your feet, you can forget it. That kid is too proud to stoop to that.” Fennec pats his shoulders a little harder than necessary before pulling back slightly. “She's not gonna beg you: if you care about her, it's now or never.”

“Maybe it should be never.”

Fennec lets him slip away, this time. His steps echo in the empty hallway, heavier than usual. He's the one who left a door open when he offered to do his worst to find help for the repairs her shuttle requires, now he's the coward having second thoughts. All because he's never been able to keep a single good thing in his life.

“She came back for you,” Fennec remarks behind him. “You should be glad she's so brave, because you would have never had the guts to reach out for her.”

He halts. This he can't deny.

Fennec leaves a respectful distance between the two of them. The bitch knows she's already pressed all the right buttons.

“I don't care what kind of self deprecating bantashit you're trying to sell to yourself,” she adds sternly. “Don't botch this before you even give it a chance. I'm onto you.”

The threat marks the end of the argument. He sighs to himself. He needs some time to think and Fennec's return gives him the perfect excuse to get away from the palace for a few hours.

“Did you bring it?” he asks without turning back.

“It's in the vault,” Fennec replies. Boba can sense her eyes rolling from across the hallway. “Polished and ready for delivery. I even put a ribbon on it.”

He gives her a nondescript grunt and heads to his quarters. He needs a shower, and a long sleep he won't be able to get.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been writing this story for like a month by now and it wasn't meant to be split in two, but at this rate I'd be posting it in March, so I'm posting this first part now and the second part ASAP (it's already half done and I'm already on it, don't worry).
> 
> I have my dozens of CaraDin drafts to get back to, as soon as the second chapter of this one is done, so stay tuned.
> 
> A BIG FAT THANK YOU to all the beautiful people who have been commenting not just my newest works, but also the older ones! There have been quite a few requests for more of the "[Two Bisexuals Walk Into a Coffee Shop](https://archiveofourown.org/series/1671397)" series, so expect an update in the next few weeks, because there is a very old draft of pt3 of this series and all these beautiful comments gave me the motivation to dig it up! 🥰
> 
> In the meantime, I hope you enjoyed this chapter. I'm very fond of this story, even though it's getting softer than intended. Blame the two idiots involved, it's all them.
> 
> Let me know what you think? ❤  
> 
> 
> **P.S. people on Tumblr say you should always share a link to your blog when you post a story on Ao3, so... if you have Tumblr, you can find me here:[beautiful-thensad-thensadder](https://beautiful-thensad-thensadder.tumblr.com/).**


	2. It Must Have Been Surrender

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Boba and Koska visit Mos Pelgo and make a new friend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from the same song as the first because it's beautiful and fits these two so well.

He's got everything ready for departure on the Silver Speeder before the suns have even breached through the dunes. He would normally opt for a faster transportation for such a long, dull trip, but today a few hours of solitude are exactly what he needs to gather his thoughts.

He's just slipped his helmet off when, approaching the ship, he notices someone is standing by the open ramp, waiting. Someone wearing a blue armour and an insolent little smirk, helmet ready under her arm. He hates how his breath caught the very moment he saw her.

_Dank farrik, Fennec._

Koska tilts her head teasingly while he's walking up to her.

“Sneaking away?”

“I have business to do in Mos Pelgo,” he grumbles. He's appalled by how very little irritated he is by this intrusion. At least his helmet prevents her from seeing the hint of a smile treacherously curling his mouth.

“I'm coming,” Koska informs him. It's hard to tell whether she's annoyed or amused.

He brushes past her and takes the ramp with a grunt of disapproval for the mere sake of appearances. “No, you're not.”

“Yes, I am.”

She makes to follow him but he stops and turns around right before entering the speeder.

“It's going to be a very boring trip.”

He didn't expect his half-hearted warning to deter her, so he's not surprised when she ignores it.

“I don't care, I'm coming.”

She tries to push past him into the ship but he bars her way with his arm.

“No, you're not.”

Not remotely discouraged, Koska peels his hand off the entrance frame and slides under it with a seductive smirk.

“Stop me,” she dares him. She even lingers to give him a chance to actually _try,_ but he doesn't have the energy to pretend he doesn't want her here, so he just drops his arm and resignedly steps aside.

“Minx,” he grouches as he follows her inside. Koska turns back to shoot him a very self-complacent chuckle.

“Nice toy you got yourself,” she comments appreciatively while she ghosts her fingers over the brand new control panels in the cockpit. It's a narrow space, fitting pilot and passenger elbow-to-elbow. Good thing his size and hers balance each other so well.

Before he can say anything, Koska sets her helmet on the floor and gracefully slides into the pilot seat, looking as comfortable and proud as a queen on her golden throne. She shoots Boba a quick cheeky glance that feels both like a flirtation and an open challenge. A quiet snicker vibrates low in Boba's throat as he plops down into the passenger seat without batting a lash.

“Well, what are you waiting for? Set course.”

Twin dimples appear in Koska's cheeks. Ten seconds later, the speeder is darting across the desert, destination Mos Pelgo.

The journey is five hours but it feels like just a few minutes. Koska is curious as to what Boba has to do in such an unimportant little town and the explanation requires so much background information he ends up branching out more and more, until his own personal experience merges with stories he only heard from others. Koska listens avidly, fascinated. When Mos Pelgo shows up through the watery blur of the heat on the horizon, they both marvel they're already here, but the navigation panel confirms they've been travelling for over four and a half hours already.

The village is small, so they leave the ship at a reasonable distance and continue on foot. The helmets are a blessing against the scorching sun and the flurries of sand lifted by the wind. Boba has his cargo packed into a bag he's carrying over a shoulder. Fennec didn't lie: there's a flamboyant red ribbon tied around the entire thing.

People stare, hiding suspiciously behind doors and windows, as the two foreign armoured figures walk through the main street. They must get very few visitors, around here.

They're not far from the cantina when two little girls with toy blasters in their hands rush to Koska and goggle at her head to toe and back.

“Are you really a _girl?”_ the smaller one asks in sheer amazement.

Instead of replying, Koska lifts off her helmet and eloquently quirks an eyebrow at the two kids, who explode in a plethora of compliments and questions.

“You're sooo beautiful!”

“Your armour is so pretty! Can I touch it?”

“Have you ever killed someone?”

“Can you teach us how to shoot?”

“Good luck,” Boba sneers under his breath. “I'll wait for you inside.” He touches her side as he walks past her. It's purely instinctual, a gesture so light and brief it might as well not have been there at all, but Koska responds to it with a look so heated Boba wishes the children weren't here.

Mos Pelgo is a sorry place, but there are much worse cantinas than this around the planet. Boba stands in the doorway, scanning the room. The bartender seems alarmed to see him.

“I'm not here to stir trouble,” Boba reassures him. He takes off his helmet, out of politeness, but for some reason this seems to alarm the good man even more.

As if summoned, Cobb Vanth in person comes through the door across the room, sporting a welcoming but subtly prudent smile.

“It's okay,” he tells the guy behind the counter, “I've got this.” He comes forward with no hurry, thumbs casually hooked into his belt. His body language says everything is under control but he's ready to put up a fight, if necessary.

“Vanth.” Boba sets his helmet down on the closest table, a message of pacifism the marshal receives loud and clear, because his cautious demeanour changes at once.

“ _Marshal_ Vanth,” he corrects amicably. “In the flesh. Do I know you?”

“No. But you donned my armour for a few years.”

Boba grants the man a moment to figure out what he means. Vanth's brow furrows; his eyes wander all over Boba's face and scars, then descend on his chest plate and, after a brief hesitation, go wide in realisation.

“Nice paint job,” he compliments. “Hadn't even recognised the old thing.” His tone sounds too cheerful and doesn't match the darkened expression of his eyes.

“You're a good guy, Vanth,” Boba says, but Vanth is still wary of him.

“I do what I can.”

Boba can see what this must look like: Vanth gave the armour to Djarin, now a perfect stranger has it. The marshal must be wondering what happened to his Mandalorian friend.

“Can I help you, ma'am?”

Vanth's eyes have shifted to a spot toward the entrance. Boba doesn't need to turn around to picture Koska's listless face as she replies with a dull, “Not really.”

“She's with me,” Boba clarifies. He doesn't know why it came out sounding more like a threat rather than an information.

Vanth's attention flickers with obvious interest between the two of them while Koska approaches. Boba can hear the cogs in his brain whirring as he starts piecing the subtle clues together.

“What can I do for you both?”

Boba drops the heavy bag he's carrying onto the table, which creaks dangerously under its weight. “I've got something for you.”

Vanth seems circumspect but doesn't turn away from the unspoken invitation to open the bag. He undoes Fennec's frilly ribbon and peaks inside with an eye still on Boba. He scowls for a split second, then his face lights up in surprise as realisation dawns upon him. He's grinning like an excited kid when he asks, “Are you serious?”

Boba purposely avoids Koska's amused chuckle. He would have preferred not to have any witnesses to this.

“Consider it a peace offering,” he cuts it short, “from the new boss.”

This is when Vanth finally makes the final and most important connection. “You're Boba Fett. You're the one who killed Bib Fortuna.”

“My resident assassin did, but you're welcome.”

Vanth's gaze moves anxiously to Koska.

“Don't worry,” she smirks with a lilt of smugness, “that's not me.”

“Don't piss her off, though,” Boba warns, intercepting Vanth's fascinated smile. “She can still kill you with her little finger and has a very short fuse.”

“Sweet,” Vanth says, looking even more fascinated. “Please,” he adds, gesturing toward the empty chairs around the table, “be my guests. Can I offer you and the lovely lady a drink?”

“Koska,” the lovely lady in question conveys.

“Marshal Cobb Vanth. Delighted to meet you.” Vanth flashes her a charming smile. Koska stares at his extended hand with an unimpressed look. Boba lets out a muffled snigger.

They all take a seat and the bartender brings them spotchka and something to eat. While he fills up the glasses, Vanths asks, “So, how did you came into possession of my— _your_ armour?”

“It was rightfully returned to me by the man you gave it to.”

They tell Vanth what they did with Djarin and Dune and the others, about the green kid's abduction, the takeover of the imperial ship and Moff Gideon's capture. By the end of the story, Vanth's eyes are sparkling with excitement. “What did I miss.” He shakes his head incredulously. “So Mando is alive? And well?”

“He had some stuff to sort out with himself. Other than that, he's fine.”

“Last time we saw him he was walking off into the sunset with his hot marshal _friend,”_ Koska chimes in. “I'm sure he's doing better than all of us.”

Vanth catches the sultry look she shares with Boba and bursts out into a hearty laugh that show how genuinely he cares about their mutual friend.

Vanth's sociable and naturally alluring personality keeps Boba and Koska sitting in the cantina for hours, chatting like old friends and diluting spotchka with the most ridiculous or exciting anecdotes from their lives. Young as she might be, Koska manages to put both men to shame with the enthraling tale of how she acquired the beskar for her first piece of armour, at only twelve years old.

“This older boy in my tribe wouldn't stop calling me _laandur_ because I was very small for my age—”

“That's Mando'a for weak,” Boba translates when Vanth frowns at the unfamiliar term. “You thought I didn't know my ancestors' language?” he says, proudly meeting Koska's impressed look across the table.

“—and I showed him how _laandur_ I was,” she continues without leaving Boba's eyes for an instant, “by unhinging his jaw with a punch. No one ever called me _laandur_ again after that.”

Boba, who personally experimented the power of Koska's punches, pities whatever arrogant fool was stupid enough to provoke her. He bets she has been collecting dozens of suitors since a very young age for plenty of reasons that probably don't even include her pretty face.

When Vanth puts on his brand new set of armour, he receives a thunderous applause from the patrons that have filled the cantina as the hours went by. He publicly thanks Boba for the gift, and another round of applause fills the already noisy room.

Everyone is cheering and clinking cups and bottles when a man wrapped up head to toe in a thick brown cowl busts into the cantina and fantically starts looking around.

“Sir!” he exclaims as soon as he spots Cobb. “A sandstorm is coming our way from the southern planes!”

Vanth's gleeful expression immediately turns into a deep scowl. He sets down his drink and a dozen of people around the room do the same.

“You know what to do,” Vanth tells them with a nod, and in a matter of seconds the room tidily empties. When the last patron is gone, Vanth turns back to Boba and Koska. “My friends, I recommend you stay in here until I get back. It's gonna be a long night.”

Boba has witnessed more sandstorms than he can count, but Koska is looking at him like she doesn't really know what to expect.

“We have to wait for the storm to pass,” he says. “The speeder can't take it.”

“Sounds like you're stuck with me.” The defiance in Koska's voice carries promises that make him wish it was just the two of them, in here. The mere idea of touching her bare skin again nearly makes him dizzy with _want;_ he has to clench his fists to keep his mind from wandering off to dangerous thoughts.

It's getting dark. The sandstorm is minutes away and the villagers are safely locked in their homes when Vanth finally comes back.

“The cantina is booked out,” he informs Boba and Koska, “but I can offer you the spare bedroom at my place. And a decent couch, if you—”

“We can share the bed,” Koska interrupts him, a bit brusquely. “Thank you,” she adds with a half apologetic bow of her head.

Vanth's attention flickers between her and Boba as he stitches the final clues together. “I see.” There's mischief in the crinkles forming at the corners of his eyes. “Well then, let's get goin'.”

Vanth's house is right around the corner, just a big plain cube with small windows and a door, but it's clean and as cosy as a home in the middle of a desert can be. The spare room Vanth is offering them is really a little more than a closet with a single bed and stool posing as a bedside table. There is only one fresher, which Vanth is happy to leave at their disposal.

“Well, then. Enjoy your night. I'll see ya tomorrow mornin'.”

Boba lets Koska shower first. When he gets back from his own shower, he finds her in her underwear, piling up their armours in a corner. Her clothes have been pushed under the bed, neatly folded. She takes in his naked torso and a corner of her mouth curls imperceptibly.

“I could have slept on the couch,” he says, tossing his own clothes next to hers under the bed.

“I didn't want you to.”

The room is cramped. A single step is all Koska needs to be facing him, cocky as ever.

“Don't get strange ideas,” he clarifies, trying his best not to stare at all those inches of exposed, inviting skin. “I'm taking the floor.”

“Why?” Koska asks pointedly. “We've already slept together in every way two people can possibly sleep together. All we need to do is lie down, close our eyes, and wake up in the morning.”

Boba has no idea how she expects him to _just sleep_ with her lying so close to him all night when she's standing before him, not even touching him, and he's already having a hard time staying focused.

“Get some sleep,” he tells her. “We need to talk before we share a bed again.”

“Fine.” Koska sits down on the bed and crosses her legs in a way that highlights the taut muscles in her thighs. The little shit. “Let's talk.”

Boba takes her chin between his fingers and tilts her head upward. His thumb ghosts across her bottom lip, whatever sense of chivalry left in him battling against the desire burning in his chest. It's time he starts coming to terms with the fact that he might feel something real for this girl.

“Sleep,” he says again, this time with a tone agreeable enough to make her close her eyes and sigh in resignation.

“Suit yourself.”

She makes sure he doesn't miss her pout before turning her back to him to slip under the sheets. He chuckles when he's sure she can't see him.

The rug he lies down on is worn and coarse but still far better than most conditions he's slept in. He rolls up his cape under his head, pulls up the heavy bantha wool blanket, and finally closes his eyes. He falls asleep to the soothing sound of Koska's slow breaths and the howls of the sandstorm raging outside.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, we're getting a third chapter because I'm unreliable like that.
> 
> Sorry about the lack of smut in this story, apparently that's what people want but this time the grumps wanted to be soft, for once, and they couldn't be stopped. I hope that's still good.
> 
> I'd love to hear from you if you liked this. There's one more chapter to go, but I love writing these two and I'd be happy to hear people are still on board with this ship.


	3. Even the Strongest Will Bend

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So much softness and sleepy talk. I failed the Grumpy Idiots, but... happy Valentine's Day to them, I guess?
> 
> Chapter title from the same song as the others because it's beautiful and so fitting.
> 
> No smut, sorry.

He feels something brushing against his legs and wakes up to Koska sneaking under his blanket. He has no idea how long he's been asleep.

“What are you doing?”

“I'm cold,” she mumbles, snuggling closer to him. She splays a hand on his chest and wraps the other around his torso, humming in satisfaction. He tries not to chuckle but it's a losing game.

“No, you're not.”

He feels Koska chuckle, too, lips stretching upon the naked skin of his neck. “No, I'm not.”

Every pretence to resist her crumbles to pieces at once. Between the warmth of her breath and the tantalising touch of her fingertips, she's melting his determination away one caress at a time, and he's too eager to feel her again, with his entire body, to bother to fight this hopeless war, so he grumbles out a helpless sigh and pulls her into his arms.

“Stubborn woman.”

Koska sneaks a leg between his, moaning happily. “I was taught to fight for what I believe is right.”

“Sleeping on the floor is right?”

She gives him a firm squeeze with her arm. _“This_ is right.” She sounds sleepy and perfectly at ease, at _home._ He can't wrap his head around this—Koska Reeves feeling at home with him, _fighting_ to be with him... He can't see what he might have done to deserve any of this, but she's finally lying in his arms again and all of a sudden the rest of the universe matters very little, compared to this. If only all of this didn't feel so much like a dream that could never come true...

“ _This,”_ he sighs, “can't go anywhere.”

Koska lets out a light, exasperated growl as she tucks her head more comfortably under his chin. “Not with this attitude.”

He's furious that she actually manages to extort a snort out of him—one that sounds too much like a laugh. He's not used to feeling so warm and at peace inside and it's absurd that he's finding such an inconceivable bliss—something he never even looked for—at a point of his life when he was convinced he would die a proud loner. Now he feels like a proud _fool,_ wrapped up in this extraordinary girl's affection despite his several and insistent attempts to push her away again and again. There must be something about himself he's failing to see that Koska deems worth her trouble. It's an awareness that brings an unwitting smile to his face he almost wishes she could see. When did he even become so sentimental?

And Koska is looking at him through the moonlit dark with those eyes that always scream so loudly, and those sweet lips she keeps biting, like she's fighting the urge to kiss him, and who is he do deny her that?

He curls a hand around her head and tugs her forward into a kiss that tastes like a confession neither of them seems to be willing to speak out loud, but it's all there, in her blissful sigh, in the gentleness of his fingers digging into her scalp while she takes his face between her hands and presses herself impossibly closer. He tries to pull back to adjust the angle, but Koska chases after him, unwilling to break the kiss—to let go of him. _Let me have this,_ she seems to beg when her arms stubbornly lock around his neck to drag his on top of her. He complies, just because he can't even think about disappointing her, right now. She feels so needy, so desperate...

He brushes a hand down the trail of her braids, his heart sinking when he pulls back and hears a broken whisper somewhere below his ear— _Please._

He keeps stroking her head in slow, soothing motions. Her breath is heavy. Her hands rest on his chest in a unspoken question. His thumb traces the line of her hair along her temple; he grants her one more kiss, then says what's been bothering him all along.

“You could have anyone.”

He catches a flash of white teeth before she swiftly rolls him on his back and steals another kiss. “That's probably true,” she purrs against his mouth.

There _must_ be a part of him that knows how to stop touching her. It must be dormant, though, or too weak to intervene; his arms wrap around her waist as she leans over his chest to resume what he interrupted, but he doesn't let her.

“Why are you here, Koska?”

She lets out a muffled grunt. It paints a very clear picture of her irritated expression, even though he can't see her, against the moonlight. Her muscles tense like when she's preparing to put up a fight; he gets ready for an elusive response, or none at all.

Koska's hand slides up his torso, stopping at the base of his neck, where her thumb swipes across his throat to meet the calm rhythm of his heartbeat. “Dune told me—” A pause leaves her voice lingering in the dark, a hesitation that doesn't feel like Koska at all. “She said... I should give life a chance to surprise me.”

“Are you surprised?”

Koska watches him wistfully for a moment, then bends over him, drops a smile-shaped kiss on his lips and moves on. Her mouth leaves a trail, hot and wet, along his jaw, down his neck. She whispers in his ear, “I'm shocked,” then kisses his cheek so tenderly it almost hurts.

“Koska,” he groans when her lips start teasing the sensitive spot below his pulse. “Koska.” He pushes her back just enough to be able to look into her eyes. His hand rises to cup her face. “I don't know how to be with someone.”

He's been on his own for so long he didn't even think he had it in himself. And then he met this girl with her silver tongue and obstinate character, and suddenly a lifetime's unchained freedom had started to feel like emptiness.

Koska places her hand over his and rubs her cheek into his palm like a domesticated cat. “Neither do I.”

“That's because you were born yesterday.”

“Shut up,” she scoffs, but a very badly repressed giggle ruins the dramatic intention. She lies down beside him and idly cuddles up. “Can we sleep, now?”

As tempted as Boba is to just close his eyes and let it be, he still doesn't want her to spend the night on the cold, hard floor.

“You're not sleeping here.”

“I am, if you are.”

He grumbles to himself—“Stubborn little girl,”—as he slips away from her and gathers her into his arms, rising to his feel like she weighs nothing. He eases her down onto the bed and lies down next to her before she can protest.

“See?” Koska gloats, sneaking under his arm, her hand splayed over his pectorals. “It wasn't that complicated.”

“Cut the smugness.”

“No way.”

He refuses to snigger. The things this girl makes him feel...

It's hard to believe they actually manage to _sleep._ Boba has only ever shared a bed physically, never emotionally: he wasn't ready for the overwhelming sense of completion coming from simply holding Koska in his arms while she falls asleep. He has no idea, after this, how he's ever going to be able to spend a single night alone.

He realises how screwed he really is when the sun starts rising and the first pale rays of sunlight seeping through the windows starts crawling up Koska's face and her nose scrunches adorably at the disturbance. Not that he didn't know he was a goner before, but _this..._ the stupid domesticity of this moment is beyond his ability to bury every single feeling he has about Koska under the thick curtain of denial.

She stirs under his arm with a soft, sleepy moan. He feels the muscles in her abdomen contract as she turns over to face him; instinctively, he pulls her closer. Only half awake, Koska grins and complies. She seeks his warmth, nuzzling into his neck; he lets his chin rest on top of her head and explores her inch by inch, religiously, coarse fingertips savouring smooth, flawless skin in a ritual of adoration he could easily get used to. Koska's peaceful breath tickles his chest. It's strange to watch her rest, like watching the rumble of waterfall slow down to a quiet dripping, even if just for a little while. There is so much strength encased inside this small body, and it's all under his palms, dormant but ready to burst in less than a blink.

There is a strip of bare skin between her tank top and her underwear. Boba absently swipes a thumb across her hipbone, then lets his hand roam further, tracing circles over the small of her back. A content moan reverberates low in Koska's throat.

“Don't stop.”

It would be a very erotic sound, if the moment wasn't so imbued with a tenderness that's magnetising all of Boba's senses into this single, simple gesture. It's just too good to be true, too intimate to ruin. They've already had sex; this is so much more than that, so more more meaningful and important—letting down their guard and abandoning their weapons for a moment of untainted peace.

Boba's caresses go on for hours, or so it feels. Koska falls back asleep. He starts wondering if he should awake her when the sun is getting higher. Its now bright light makes Koska squirm idly until her eyes grudgingly flutter open. She catches him observing her, and something in the way he's looking at her causes a crease between her eyebrows. Concern? Perplexity? He doesn't know how to interpret it. He's so absorbed by the intensity of her expression he doesn't notice her hand until it touches his face.

 _'What are you doing?',_ he wants to ask, but he can't find his voice. Koska seems too focused to pay any attention to his breathless stillness. She follows the jagged lines of his scars like they're a breath-taking sight, the look in her eyes so soft, so intent and enamoured, that even he can't bring himself to doubt the genuine nature of her feelings.

“The man who fought a sarlacc and survived,” she muses, as if talking to herself. Her eyes are following the trail of her fingertips, soft with mute fascination. “I wish I could have seen it.”

Boba's eyes shut as her touch ghosts over his lips. He tries to conciliate the ugliness of the marks he bears with the tenderness Koska is showing him, but the cruel voice screaming _'Pity!'_ inside his head is growing dimmer and dimmer, and it doesn't sound as confident as it used to.

He still remembers how the molten sand burned in his wounds as he crawled through it, clutching his last breath of life like a blade between his teeth, his flesh lacerated so deeply it felt like it could fall off his bones with every agonising move he attempted. It was a spectacle he wouldn't have wanted her to witness.

“I was a corpse covered in blood,” he argues in a grim whisper. “I didn't look like a human being for a long time.”

The merely hinted crease between Koksa's brows deepens, just for one second, then the tension in her expression slowly melts away, replaced by something else. Something attentive and almost affectionate. Her palm spreads upon his cheek, cupping his face in a tentative caress. “And yet here you are, now.”

Boba is trying his best to ignore the acceleration in his pulse. He's glad at least he doesn't seem to be the only one to be dismayed by this sudden intimacy unfolding between them. Koska is eerily quiet, solemn, but the weight of this silence carries more meaning than any trivial string of words ever could.

“You're serious about this, aren't you?”

There's a twitch in her lips—a smile, maybe. Who knows.

“Took you long enough.”

Boba's sigh is one of serene surrender. If there's something he's learned in his long decades of solitary hunting it is to pick up his fights, and this one was never worth his while.

He lets Koska crawl up against his side and rest her head upon his chest. His arm spontaneously finds its way around her shoulders; it's a heavy motion, muscles tense and uncertain for the lack of familiarity with holding someone so gently and for the mere pleasure of it. He usually touches people only when he kills them.

“I hope you have a plan, kid, because I can't see how this is gonna work for the long haul.”

Koska huffs. “Kark plans. I don't want a script we're gonna screw up.”

“So what?”

“You could start by telling your guards they don't have to get their ass kicked every time I show up.”

He chuckles. He's tempted not to listen to her advice just to let her have some fun.

“What if I don't?”

She shrugs. “You'd be running out of guards pretty fast.”

That he would. If he had even a half dozen of enforcers half as good as her, he would be ruling the galaxy, by now.

“I'll let them know the scary little hellcat has a free pass. You want a red carpet?”

“A step aside and a bow will do.”

“So you'll be coming back.”

“Whenever I can.”

The phrasing causes a flutter in his stomach. It's an interesting choice of words: the fact that she's implicitly telling him there will be times she'll want to come back but won't be able to... it's a lot to take in. No one ever missed him before. No one ever wanted to return to _him._

“I'd better spread the voice there's a new boss in town.”

“You do that, big guy. And make sure they know my name.”

“What will your princess say about this?”

About _us,_ he wanted to say, but _us_ is a dangerous term to be used so carelessly—too many implications behind it, too many expectations.

“That's her problem,” Koska mumbles, “not ours.”

A proud grin creeps up Boba's lips. Fennec is right: this girl is so much braver than he is. And he knows being the first to admit there's an _us_ puts a dent in her pride—her ego probably bleeds a little every time she seeks his attention—a look, a kiss, a simple touch—but this only proves how much he matters to her. He thought she was made of beskar, which only proves how good a deceiver she is. Small and beautiful, she had to grow thorns to make it in a world of bigger, scarier predators. She's bigger and scarier inside, now, but there is more to that, deep and hidden, where he imagines she doesn't like to look, lest she finds weaknesses too great to overcome. He had to hurt himself through her thorns to reach the real Koska, but now he can see the one she is beneath the armour, and it takes his breath away a little more every time he catches a new glimpse. He wonders if Lady Kryze knows this side of her pupil. The bitch is definitely going to give Koska a hard time for this thing she has with him.

“Another fight to add to our schedules,” he muses. Both himself and Koska have more than enough of those, and that's inevitable for people who wage war for a living.

Koska is not intimidated. She lazily rubs her cheek over his chest and he can feel her lips stretching against his skin. “My blaster's ready.”

“Was that a smile?” he inquires. He should have seen the kick in his shins coming.

“Shut up.”

One hour later, Vanth is escorting them back to their speeder, showing off his brand new armour to the villagers, helmet on display under his arm. People greet Boba and Koska much more warmly than they did when they arrived yesterday.

“Next time you visit,” Vanth says before they step into the small ship, “I'll make sure you get a private room at the cantina.” He winks.

“If you need anything,” Boba replies with a smirk, “my door's always open.”

“I'll hold you to that.” Vanth vigorously shakes his hand, then Koska's. “If you happen to hear from our mutual friend, tell him I say hi.”

Once they're in the cockpit, Boba unceremoniously takes the passenger seat and watches in silent amusement as Koska makes a show of taking possession of the pilot seat.

“Coordinates?” she asks, ready to punch them in.

Boba removes his helmet, sits back, and exhales a long, satisfied sigh.

“Just type in _home.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, still not dead. Work is still hell, though, and I basically get some me time only on Sundays, so I'm going to be slow with new stories but I'm not going anywhere. I have a very short CaraDin angsty piece I started when my period hormones were making me feel absolutely awful; after this one is finished, I'll get back to fluff and humour, which I'm sure we all need right now.
> 
> A comment would be amazing for my exhausted soul. Let's keep the love up, this is a beautiful fandom and it needs to stay like this. ❤


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